-Asher-
The woods behind Whisperwind College aren't silent tonight - not really. The wards hum faintly through the trees, the wind rattles branches overhead, and somewhere far off, an owl calls into the dark. But all of it is swallowed by the roar in my head. I pace under the trees, boots cracking twigs and dead leaves, breath coming sharp in the cold. The wolf paces with me, just under my skin, claws dragging at my ribs, wanting out, wanting her, and wanting blood. It doesn't care which.
I can still see them. Soren's hands tangled with hers, his shadows wrapped around her like a second skin. The look on her face - soft, open, trusting. The way she leaned into him, as if he were the only thing keeping her steady. It shouldn't make me this angry, but it does. She's mine. The thought growls through me like a low snarl. Mine to guard, mine to fight beside, mine to -
I drag a hand through my hair, tugging hard at the roots like pain might ground me. It doesn't. The wolf pushes harder. I told myself it didn't matter if the bond wasn't fully sealed - not yet. That there was a time. That she'd come to me when she was ready. But now she's drifting closer to the others - letting Finn pull her in first, letting Soren wrap his shadows around her like some loyal guard dog.
And Jasper - gods, Jasper - he watches her like she's a wildfire he wants to burn him alive. He's just waiting for his turn. A laugh tears out of me, sharp and humorless, echoing through the bare trees. The cold bites at my skin, but it's not enough to put out the fire in my veins. It doesn't add up. It shouldn't add up.
They're all falling for her like they don't have a choice. What if they don't? The thought slips in before I can shove it away, curling in the space between the wolf's anger and my ragged fear. Chaos magic is wild, unpredictable - it wants to bond, to claim. What if it's not her fault? What if it's not even hers to control?
What if we never had a choice at all? I did my claws into the bark of a tree, breath misting the air, chest heaving. I want to believe I'd love her anyway. That the pull between us is real. That the heat I feel in my veins whenever she's close is mine. But what if it's not? The thought slides in like a blade, clean and cold, lodging under my ribs where I can't pull it out. I stand there, breath steaming in the cold, trying to shove it away, but it clings, sinking deeper with every beat of my heart.
What if the way I feel around her, the way Finn looks at her like she's his entire world, the way Soren can't seem to let her out of his sight, the way Jasper watches her like she's the only light left in the world - what if it's not us?
What if it's her chaos magic, seeping into us, tangling with our bonds, making us want her whether we would have or not? The wolf snarls at the thought, but not in denial, in fear. I can't stand still. I turn on my heel, striding out of the trees, letting the cold bite at me as I head toward the west tower, where the oldest part of Whisperwind's library is tucked under layers of spells and creaking floors.
I shove the heavy door open, the scent of old parchment and cold stone hitting me as I step inside, the wards humming as they recognize me. The lanterns flicker to life one by one, spilling pale gold across dusty shelves. Chaos magic. Compulsion. Witches who can bind others with a single touch, a single whisper, a single kiss. My jaw clenches as I move between the stacks, boots echoing on the floor, the wolf pacing with me, restless. I find the section on chaos magic - thick tomes bound in cracked leather, titles in languages that taste like iron and smoke on my tongue. My hands shake as I pull them down, one after another, stacking them on the scarred wooden table near the back, away from prying eyes.
I flip them open, skimming pages filled with sketches of spiraling sigils, descriptions of chaos latching onto bonds, amplifying connections, rewriting choices without the victim ever knowing. My eyes catch on phrases: Chaos amplifies desire. Involuntary bond entanglement. The illusion of choice under chaos influence.
I swallow, flipping faster, ignoring the burn in my eyes, the pounding in my skull. What if she doesn't even know she's doing it? What if she does? I press a hand to the page, feeling the roughness of old parchment under my fingertips as the wolf inside me paces, growling. If the others knew, they'd want proof, not just suspicion. Finn would fight me. Soren would try to rationalize it away. But Jasper - Jasper would listen. My hands curl into a fist on the page, the paper crinkling under my grip. If there's a crack in this bond, Jasper will help me find it. We owe it to ourselves. We owe it to her. And if it turns out she's forcing us to love her? The wolf snarls. Then I'll do what I have to.
I close the last book with a thud that echoes through the empty library, the lanterns flickering above me. My hands are cold, cramped from hours of turning fragile pages, but I don't feel it. I see the words every time I blink: Chaos can amplify desire, binding emotions beyond the victim's awareness. A witch's chaos can seep into bond marks, deepening attachment beyond natural limits. Most victims do not realize their will has been subverted.
My pulse pounds in my ears. My jaw aches from clenching it. The wolf wants to run. To drag her out into the woods and demand the truth. But that would only prove I'm exactly what they think I am: a threat. Unstable. I shove the books back into their places and leave the library, letting the cold slap me awake as I cross the grounds. Lanterns sputter against the mist rolling off the grass, whispering around my boots.
I head to the old music room. It's tucked in the west wing of the oldest building, the door warped from age, the inside heavy with the scent of dust and wood polish. Broken instruments are stacked along the walls, a cracked piano leaning against the far side like a ghost of the past. This is our place. When Whisperwind gets too loud, when the weight of what we are becomes too much, this is where we come.
They're already there. Finn is perched on the windowsill, legs swinging, scowling at the floor. Soren stands near the wall, arms crossed, shadows leaking around his boots, jaw tight. Jasper is sprawled on a faded loveseat, flipping a coin between his fingers, his gaze distant. They all look up as I walk in, closing the door behind me with a click that feels too loud.
"What the hell is your problem, Asher?" Finn snaps immediately, blue eyes sharp, the bond between him and Alexia pulsing hot with his anger. "You're picking fights with everyone, hovering over her like a psycho, and for what?"
"Back off," Soren adds, voice calm but edged, the shadows around him bristling like hackles. "She's not your punching bag."
I roll my shoulders, trying to bleed off the tension, but it won't leave. "You don't get it."
"No, we don't," Finn shoots back, sliding off the windowsill, stepping closer. "All we see is you acting like you own her, but want nothing to do with her."
I laugh, low and humorless, scrubbing a hand over my face. "I don't want anything to do with her, the wolf thinks we have a bond, and you think I like this?"
"You sure as hell act like it," Finn snaps.
"Enough," Soren says, stepping between us, his gaze steady on me. "Whatever your problem is, figure it out, but don't take it out on her. She is new to this world."
They're both wrong. They don't see it, don't want to see it. I don't answer. I just stand there, the wolf pacing inside me, the words from the library like acid in my mouth.
"Whatever, man," Finn mutters, shaking his head, and he storms out, shadows flickering as Soren follows him, casting me one last disappointed look before the door swings shut. Only Jasper remains. He's still lounging on the loveseat, but his eyes are on me now, sharp, waiting, the coin stilled between his fingers.
"What's this about, Ash?" he asks quietly.
I take a breath, the wolf stilling for a moment, sensing the shift.
"Stay a minute," I say, my voice low.
Jasper flips the coin once, catching it, his amber eyes narrowing.
"Yeah," he says, sitting up, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I think we need to talk."